


I Got a Fever of a Hundred and Three

by ryguy



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Dancing, Dry Humping, Episode: s14e07 The Gang Solves Global Warming, Grinding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryguy/pseuds/ryguy
Summary: Come on baby, do you do more than dance?Dennis is irritated because Mac seems to forget what personal space is. Don't mind the fact that he didn't pull away when he had the chance.Whatever.It's not like they can't make excuses later.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	I Got a Fever of a Hundred and Three

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively: Mac and Dennis get hot-blooded down South.
> 
> I'm obsessed with Global Warming as an episode and the soundtrack is phenomenal, so this came to be in the span of three days. I vividly remember that when it was airing, EVERYONE thought Mac and Dennis are gonna finally get it on. Well, this is that one fic that explores the situation as in-depth as shameless porn can.
> 
> Title from "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner.

**Temperature inside Paddy's: 95 degrees Fahrenheit**

“How did it get _hotter_?”

“I don’t know, man,” says Dennis, “I think the slow jams backfired. It's like all the friction from the grinding, like, created a closed system. I didn't account for all the increased sexiness.”

His eyes sweep over the people on the dance floor. Body heat is through the roof, the room is stifling, and panties are dropping at Paddy’s at a record rate. It’s like _Saturday Night Fever_ , except it’s a Monday afternoon—the dancing part is more or less accurate, though. 

Mac stands astride with his hands perching on his hips.

“I know what you mean, but,” he pants out, “these people are clearly having fun, dude. We haven’t had a crowd this big since uh, we were a gay bar—which I've changed my mind on with coming out, mind you!”

Dennis’s brows draw together in confusion. “What are you even talking about?”

“You know, we should just do the whole bar thing, but make it gay. Everything’s better when it’s gay.”

Mac raises an icy bottle of _Coors_ to his forehead. He lets out a moan at the cooling sensation as it washes the torridity out of his system.

He manages to bang his elbow into Dennis’s shoulder, to which he responds by jabbing back at Mac’s bicep, his hand smacking his bare skin. Mac’s muscles are practically glowing under the blue-violet lights from all the sweat covering them. Dennis prises his hand from his skin—that sticks like some sickly-sweet honey—like he’s been singed.

Mac lets out a yelp, shoulders squaring and body tensing up. Dennis does _not_ look at his sculpted abs when he sucks his stomach in and leans back on the bar.

He instead gives a contemptuous sigh, looking away. “No, we are not doing that again, you _idiot_.”

“Fine,” Mac says with a feigned soreness in his tone, “go be homophobic, then.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ , come on.” Dennis lets his wolfish stare veer back onto Mac’s features as he resumes fanning his face with one hand. “I’m just simply not going in that crowd. I’m above that. I’ll sit back, relax, and crack open another beer." Dennis taps Frank on the shoulder. "Right, Frank?"

"Those broads over there are getting paid for flashing their tits and all you care about is your _beer_?"

Dennis laughs weakly in response. "What can I say, man? I love my beer like I love my women."

Dennis also wholeheartedly believes that the only thing worse than beer to brown out on is plain mixers, which is the lowest one could sink. Wine, on the other hand… _fine wine indicates taste_ , he thinks, sparing a glance at Mac's side profile, focusing in on his chiseled jawline.

"Why is standing here doing nothing better than dancing?"

"Because I have more class than to grind with strangers, Mac."

Mac takes on a mocking tone. "Oh, boo-hoo, you have more class!"

"I _do_ have more class, you—!" Dennis crushes the red solo cup in his hand, spilling his beer. “God _damnit_.” He tosses it over the countertop and takes an entire bottle as a replacement.

Mac wipes the sweat from his forehead, slicking his hair back with the motion. He gives an exaggerated exhale. “Whatever. I didn’t say anything about going into the crowd, anyway.”

Dennis quirks an eyebrow. “You wanna dance near the fish factory guys? This insane heat is making you lose what little of your mind you had left.”

Mac turns to look at him and their eyes meet for a split second. He takes a swig from his bottle before slamming it on the counter with a _clink_.

“You know what? Just come with me. Just—”

Mac clutches Dennis’s hand. His palm is hot and clammy against his, and his grasp on his hand tightens as he pulls him away from the bar. Dennis leaves his drink behind, putting it beside Mac’s as an afterthought.

“Mac,” he says, “I hate to break it to you but I didn’t exactly _agree_ to go anywhere with you. Do you need me to hold your dick while you piss because you drank too much?”

He follows him regardless.

“I'm not that drunk!” Mac protests. “Theoretically I could hold my dick just fine.” Dennis can hear the smirk in his voice as he continues on. “ _And_ I’m not the one squeezing my hand.”

Dennis starts to itch from the red-hot flush spreading down his neck. Mac twists around, keeping their hands loosely interlocked. His smile is warm and selfless, lips gently curving at the corners. He pulls Dennis into a corner, away from the people.

“I have faith in my ideas. Trust me on this one.”

Mac’s firm hands curl around his forearms, his fingertips an unshakeable pressure for the three seconds it takes for him to toss Dennis’s hands over his shoulders. Dennis stiffly squeezes down, his fingernails sharply prodding at the muscle. Mac mutters out another _trust me_ , lips barely parting. Dennis breathes out. His fingers ease up. He feels Mac’s hands snake down his sides, moving down, down from his ribs, only stopping to rest on his hips.

He starts swaying to the rhythm, off-tempo.

“Your great idea was to slow dance?” Dennis questions. “As if that would solve global warming or something?”

Mac huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

At first, Dennis doesn’t comment when Mac steps closer.

He feels the radiant heat turn into perspiration and that betraying pink undertone below his cheekbones. Mac has no notion of personal space and it should be infuriating, it really should be.

"Don't stand so close to me, I can hear your thoughts."

Mac scoffs. "I'm not standing close, _you_ 're standing close, Dennis."

"That makes absolutely _no_ sense because the end result is the same!"

Dennis takes a step back. Mac puts his foot forward, completely missing the point.

"Can't you feel the breeze?" he asks. “It’s almost like riding a bike down a hill, dude.”

Dennis feels a light gust blow at the sweat drops on his nape. The short curls there feel cold and wet in contrast to his bosom.

“It’s most _definitely_ not like riding a bike, but alright, I feel a little something.”

“That’s because this spot is optimal. It’s closest to the AC. Your eyes might dry out super quick, but it's good for like the first five minutes.”

Dennis grins at him, impressed. “Huh. Smart.”

Mac looks at him from under his lashes, such a subdued openness in his gaze. Then, Dennis can visualize the lightbulb going off behind his eyes. 

Mac is so transparent. He takes a step back, expecting Dennis to follow.

Dennis steps between his legs with a deep sigh.

And he hates it, he hates how the heat's spikes prickle his skin from the inside out the moment he allows his eyes a fleeting glance at Mac's body, away from his face, with such a greedy look coming from below his lids. His mind defaults to labeling him as a _sexy beast_ , which, while nowhere near refined, does the job well enough for the time being. In an absent-minded, albeit bold move, he traces his pointer finger down between his pecs, and Mac _shivers_ under his hand—from the unbearable heat, just a chill under the humidity, _not_ an aroused tremble.

Mac huffs out a shallow breath that vaguely sounds like his name—or he's so far gone that he's experiencing hallucinations, hot-headed thoughts running wild and circling back to Mac like a boomerang. His voice is a deep rumble that Dennis feels in his stomach as he does it again; he breathes out his name in a hushed whisper, the sheer desperation in his tone unmistakable.

Dennis feels the need to suppress a groan—he's not about to give Mac such an evident green light. It's nothing more than a natural reaction, after all, an animalistic instinct in response to stimulation.

Mac rolls his shuddering hips forward, and Dennis tries not to fixate on the sounds that leave his mouth; he’s too preoccupied with digging his manicured nails into Mac's shoulder blades. He doesn't know whether to push him off or pull him inhumanely close.

Mac rests his chin on his shoulder. He manages to crowd Dennis against an open space, which should be impossible. Then, he tilts his head, his chapped lips brushing over Dennis's neck.

He starts slurring his sentences as if they were one conjoined word. "Dennis," he says, and Dennis feels his mouth move against his skin with every letter he lazily forms his lips around. "You're hot."

Dennis laughs, short and shaky around the edges. "Is it the whole global warming thing or is it just me?"

It tingles beneath the patch where Mac’s smile meets his throat, and Dennis forgets about the bar and the heat and his growing hard-on.

"Pretty sure it's both, dude."

Mac’s teeth graze over an artery. He wets his lips and the tip of his tongue flicks over the sensitive skin above Dennis's clavicle. Dennis tips his head back and a relieved moan resounds deep in his throat. The floodgates open once and for all and he lets sexual desire wash over him.

Mac's body is fever hot against his, drenched in sweat. Even with this many unneeded layers separating them, the two men are naked, exposed. 

Mac's zipper is pressing uncomfortably into his erection as Dennis pins his thigh up against it.

"What happened to being 'above' grinding?" Mac asks, his broad back so close that Dennis can effortlessly fold his arms around it. He's expecting blisters to form on his palms from how scalding Mac’s skin is but he can’t help melting into it.

"I guess I can make an exception," he breathes out. "Proves the rule and all that. Shows that I-I’m selective.” He tangles his fingers in Mac’s damp hair and tugs him closer. “It’s beneficial for the both of us, really.”

Dennis has this sultry tone he reserves for sweet-talking his way towards favorable outcomes and it fills Mac with a blind fervor, something that makes him want to see Dennis choke on his own cockiness. Hands can’t bite, at least not in the literal sense, but Mac can feel the indents left behind by his blunt nails as his hands rub Dennis’s hips.

"Then do something about it, pretty boy."

Dennis brings his hands down to his ass, firmly groping him through his pants. He grinds against him a little harder. Mac's prickly beard burns his throat as he presses his face further into his neck. His nose drags along the slick skin and he shivers, breath coming out uneven.

"Mm— _fuck_."

Mac rocks his hips forward again, in a long, smooth move. He scratches his nails up Dennis's sides, feeling goosebumps in his hands' wake.

Mac lifts his head. Dennis seems unamused, but his resting features and his clouded eyes are more inviting than anything Mac has ever seen.

"Your breath smells like shit,” Dennis says, his tone flimsy and unconvincing. His voice breaks on the second word, but Mac just tilts his head to the side.

He aims to please with every change in his expression. His lips part and curve into a smile that is screaming _infatuation,_ and Dennis allows himself one small peek. He then averts his eyes, holding his pride too high.

"I know." Mac continues to gaze at Dennis. His eyes are darkened with a controlled lust and he inches closer. "I know," he repeats, and he's leaning in and kissing the corner of Dennis’s mouth, soft and giving.

"It's disgusting, Mac."

Mac plants kisses along his jaw, sweat catching on his lips. Dennis holds his breath.

"You like it when I kiss you."

"I _don't_ —”

Mac reaches between them to palm Dennis through his jeans, his hand a steady pressure.

"You do,” he murmurs against his lips in a husky tone.

The heel of his hand rolls back, then forth. He squeezes Dennis harder, feeling him throb in his grasp. His thumb circles the tip and Dennis’s mouth drops open around a muted moan. Mac seizes the opportunity to bite down on his lower lip, and even just a shred of those lips is enough to send him into a frenzy. Dennis tastes so good, it's all he can think about as he licks the flavored lip gloss off his mouth and smears it on his skin.

"Dennis—" Mac doesn't even know what he's asking for at this point.

Dennis tastes sweet and musky and a bit like cheap beer when he kisses him back. Mac stumbles back a half step and holds him close by the waist nevertheless. Their chests press together and he can feel every breath Dennis takes.

Dennis takes a hold of his chin between his index and his thumb. "Did you get this jacked for _me_ , Mac?"

It's the first time today that Mac has heard his name spill from Dennis's mouth without mockery enveloping it, and he thinks he might get addicted. Dennis doesn't wait for an answer. He's aflame with a newfound intensity as he licks his way into Mac's mouth and sucks on his tongue. Mac moans into his mouth, and it doesn't even sound coherent anymore.

His hands roam his sides then slide down between his legs. Mac rolls his hips, slow and dirty against Dennis. Dennis’s hands trail down his washboard abs and his nails tap against his belt buckle before ghosting over his cock. 

"A- _ah_ —holy fuck," Mac mewls.

“Yeah,” Dennis grunts out in a dominant undertone, “give it to me, baby.”

Mac screws his eyes shut so tight he's seeing fireworks. There's a muffled whimper getting drowned out between their tongues and he feels the warm come stick to his underwear. His hips stutter once more as he curls into Dennis and kisses him hard, hands cradling his cheeks.

When he pulls away to suck in a greedy breath, a string of saliva is still connecting their mouths. Mac blinks his eyes open. He presses their foreheads together. Dennis’s lips are agape and bruised red and he’s breathing the same air as him and yet he still can’t make out how he’s feeling; he just can’t get a good look at his face from so close.

"Did you…?"

"Yeah," Dennis admits with a dreamy smirk playing on his lips. "You bet your ass I did.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **\+ author's notes**  
>  Thank you for reading! Just something short and, well, not exactly sweet, more like steamy. Hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment and tell me what you thought, constructive criticism more than welcome!
> 
> **\+ socials**  
>  Hashtag [gaydennis](https://gaydennis.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr dot com


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